


Cry With Exile

by peachsoul



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Everyone loves Steve, Gen, one day ill learn how to tag properly, this is literally about steve being lonely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 21:28:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20842280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachsoul/pseuds/peachsoul
Summary: You’ll jump into the freezing cold pool with your clothes on and try to not think about how you haven’t been touched in 72 hours and how you’re starting to believe that you don’t need anyone else to live.You’ll resurface after your lungs feel like they’re about to burst. You’ll shiver and take 50 steadying breaths and remind yourself that there are worst things than neglectful parents. Like monsters that hide in the night mostly.





	Cry With Exile

**Author's Note:**

> lmao so. yeah
> 
> This is the one where i projected so hard onto Steve Harrington I almost passed out. 
> 
> Just something short and sweet that I needed to get out of my brain before I went crazy, also a promo for season 4 came out and the dumbass brothers better not ruin Steve's storyline. 
> 
> Hope you like it, and that it makes sense. Steve is just sad, but he is very loved. Small warning for some sucidal ideation, it’s not much but it’s there so please be safe!!

It’s okay when you’re young because your brain hasn’t quite nearly developed enough to process loneliness. It hasn’t shown you the way it’ll affect you for the rest of your life. How it’ll ruin the way you are with others, and how it’ll leave a scar within your chest so big you feel like it’s all you are.  
  
It’s okay when you’re young because your parents still feel like superheros. They’ll come home, exhausted and completely on edge, and you’ll still somehow be able to make yourself believe that this is the safest you’ll ever be. Your mom will pass you on the way to the kitchen and she won’t acknowledge you, give you a hug, or ask you how your day was.  
  
She’ll set her bag down on the counter, and she’ll pour herself a glass of wine, and she won’t even bother turning on the kitchen lights. You think she’s the funniest person you know. So you giggle in hopes that she’ll laugh along with you, but instead, she smiles at you dimly, more of a grimace than a smile if you think about it too hard, and she’ll tell you to quite down. That she’s tired and can’t handle any loud noises at the moment.

You’re nine years old and you’re watching your mother down her glass of wine and proceed to grab the whole bottle and take it upstairs with her, she doesn’t even glance at you. It’s only eight o’clock, and you were hoping she would help you with your English homework, because the words on the pages are more confusing than they’ve ever been, and you’d been hoping she would remind you that you weren’t actually stupid, like the kids in your class had said.  
  
The house will remain silent as you stand in the dark kitchen, hearing your mom tip-toe around upstairs, and you’ll flinch at the echoing sound of her bedroom door being locked. It’s okay because you’re young and the _thumpthump ache_, _thumpthump ache_, in your chest isn’t quite registering to you.  
  
And then it’ll be two in the morning, and you’ll be wide awake, sweating under your sheets, because you haven’t seen your father in forty-eight hours, and your mother never peaked into your room to say goodnight, like she did when you were younger.  
  
The house is dead silent and a sick part of you hopes your mom hears the small whimpers you make when it all gets to much in your chest to hold in.  
  
But she never hears. Or if she does hear, she never bothers to check on you, you don’t know which one should be worse.  
  
The silence and solitude will become routine as time passes. Your stomach will no longer drop to your feet when you walk into the kitchen and see a note on the counter;  
  
_Your father and I will be gone for a few days for business. Keep yourself out of trouble. xx_  
  
The notes will stare back at you and seem to laugh at you every single time. You eventually stop expecting to suddenly see a _‘We love you_’ on them. You’ll grab the $100 bill that is left on the counter and life will move on.  
  
And suddenly you’re seventeen years old and you’re in high school and you need everyone around you to look at you and think,_ I need them_, _I want them_, _I breathe for them._  
  
You’re seventeen and you should be used to the isolation and the darkness that wraps and squeezes inside your chest, rises like fire, every time you walk into an empty house. It shouldn’t matter, at least not anymore, because,  
  
_You’re almost eighteen for Christ sake Steven. Your mother and I shouldn’t have to watch your every move._  
  
Your dad will say, standing in your doorway, a tie that you got him for his birthday a few years ago clenched in his fist. You bristle as he sets down a souvenir he got you from New York. You’ll Roll your eyes at the snow globe that he thinks will mend the loneliness that has stitched together and made a home in your chest while they were away taking care of business instead of you.  
  
You’re not even sure why he is upset with you in the first place. You have become used to the anger and disappointment over things that you cannot control. Nothing phases you anymore. 

A hollow laughter rips from your chest as your father walks away, slamming the door behind him, because when have they ever watched your every move? You go to pick up the snow globe from your desk and clutch it so tightly you feel like it’ll shatter under your skin. You throw it in your closet along with all the other pointless souvenirs that have piled up over the years. You turn up the volume on your record player, the sweet velvety sound of _Queen_ fills the emptiness in your room as you throw yourself onto your bed, desperately ignoring the stinging behind your eyelids.  
  
You want to do something drastic to get their attention. You plan to crash your car, start a fight at school that’ll get you suspended for a week minimum. You think about going to school cross-faded after throwing a party at your house, you plan everything and anything.  
  
Instead of doing any of those things, later that night, you sneak into the woods and scream until your throat feels like it’s being ripped to shreds. You fall hard onto your knees, look up to the sky, and beg for it to swallow you whole.  
  
And then, because nothing can ever just be in Hawkins, you find out that monsters exist, you find out that there are things that hide in the night. Things that will drag you into the woods, and never let you out. And all at once you find out that the one person you let yourself love, that you wanted to let into your silent and isolated life, doesn’t love you back and all you can think is;  
  
_Of course she doesn’t, why would she?_  
  
You think,  
  
_There is nothing in this world that I could give her that she doesn’t already have._  
  
And you’ll think,  
  
_I always needed her, more than she had ever needed me._  
  
The freezing cold water from your pool will look inviting and tempting after you leave her at a Halloween party, feeling like your intestines have been ripped out of you and scattered across the highway.  
  
You’ll think that maybe your parents prepared you for this loneliness. That maybe you should thank them for making you the way that you are.  
  
But you stop that train of thought almost immediately, because you’ve felt as if you were ready to jump out of your skin with every single second that has passed since you were fifteen and your home has felt like a museum, a hospital, _a fucking funeral home_, so instead you’ll think;  
  
_I fucking hate my parents. I fucking hate myself._  
  
and you’ll think,  
  
_I forgot how to love. I’ve forgotten how to want to be loved._  
  
You’ll jump into the freezing cold pool with your clothes on and try to not think about how you haven’t been touched in 72 hours and how you’re starting to believe that you don’t need anyone else to live.  
  
You’ll resurface after your lungs feel like they’re about to burst. You’ll shiver and take 50 steadying breaths and remind yourself that there are worst things than neglectful parents. Like monsters that hide in the night mostly. 

Life will then become so comical you could choke on it, ironic even, because it turns out all you needed were some monsters to save your life.  
  
And you’ll realize it when you’re covered in blood that’s half yours and half _Robin’s, Nancy’s, Jonathan’s, Joyce’s, Hopper’s, the kids._ You’ll realize it when you feel the multitude of bruises blooming literally everywhere under your skin, and this time you’ll say it out loud to the people standing around you in the middle of the fucking woods, looking just as bruised and battered as you, and they’re all a little fucked up just like you, and that’s why you’ll say,  
  
_“I love you guys. I’m glad none of you shitheads died.”_  
  
And you’ll cough harshly and push down a sob that is threatening to to rise up like bile, as bodies collide into yours, laughter and curses passing lips, hands reach out to grab purchase of your damp clothes, of your cold and clammy skin. You’ll feel like you’re suffocating and you’ll want to live in the feeling of having your lungs compressed, the feeling of being held so tight you can’t breathe.   
  
You’ll pretend that you don’t notice half of the kids crying, because they’re ignoring how weepy you’re getting too.  
  
And you almost feel like you’re dying all over again, like there is a monster standing over you, jaw unhinged, ready to snap you up, because you missed the feeling of being touched just to be touched. The feeling of having someone love you enough to show you without words. Show you by pressing their chest against yours, waiting for your hearts to beat in tandem, as you thank whatever God is listening that you’re all able to be alive at the same time.  
  
You’ll look down at the six gangly pre-teens pushing to get closer to you, clinging onto you like they are lost out at sea and you are their life raft, and then you’ll look up and see three of your best friends huddled close together, looking at you as if they want to hide you away, keep you safe in the sunlight, and away from the nighttime and the deadly things that hide within it. And you’ll look at the two adults who grabbed you by the back of your neck and told you that’ll it’ll all be okay, that put a gentle hand on your cheek and held you together, and you’ll say out loud,  
  
_“I don’t deserve this.”_  
  
And the worst part, is that you’ll believe it with you’re whole heart. But the squeeze and tearful smiles you get in return will verbalize the words that no one can speak at the moment,

_We’ll give you the world, you just have to ask for it. Please ask for it._  
  
And just like that you’ll feel the loneliness that has felt like an extension of you for so long, will start to ebb and flow like the ocean and for once in your life you think;  
  
_I’m finally home, and the lights are on. _

**Author's Note:**

> No thoughts, head has never been so empty. 
> 
> If you want to go feral over Steve Harrington, you can chat with me on tumblr @ sventeens, as always.
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!


End file.
